


My Only Hope

by luna_plath



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, F/M, Gen, Jedi, Princess Sansa, Prompt Fill, Smuggler Jon Snow, Spaceships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 22:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7124434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luna_plath/pseuds/luna_plath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is stranded on the Star Destroyer <i>Brightroar</i>, a prisoner of the Lannisters, when an unusual, ragtag team arrives to rescue her.</p>
<p>Prompt was "space." This fic is set in a "Star Wars: A New Hope" alternate universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Only Hope

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been writing a lot of Star Wars fic lately, so here’s my OTP in that ‘verse. 
> 
> idk if there will be more of this??? maybe?? thoughts/comments are love. Or you could LEAVE A PROMPT and I might continue ; )

The planet Northoraan is striped with bands of cloud-cover, snow storms that pummel its surface and give it a gray cast from the distance of space. On the Star Destroyer _Brightroar_ , Sansa watches as a phalanx of TIE fighters depart from the hangar, heading straight for her home planet and its unguarded surface.

She turns away from the transparasteel viewport, nausea curling in her stomach.

“Are you well, my lady?”

Sansa looks to General Baelish, schooling her features into a passive expression. “Violence displeases me.”

He offers her a composed nod. “With your brother’s forces embroiled with the remnant of the Targaryen Empire, I doubt there will be much fighting to witness here.”

Sansa’s nails bite into the inside of her palm, leaving deep crevices in her skin. Her hands, curled into fists, are hidden by the long, daggered sleeves of her white dress.

Before she can tame her emotions enough to reply, an alarm klaxon sounds, so loud that she immediately reaches to cover her ears. General Baelish runs to a control panel and begins pulling up lighted schematics of the space station.

“There’s an intruder on the station. You will not leave this room,” the General states, pulling a blaster from his coat pocket before heading into the fray. 

With hope bubbling up her throat, Sansa dares to think, _Could it be? Has my uncle Benjen, my last hope, found a way to rescue me?_

As the door swipes open for his departure the blare of the alarm grows loud enough to be ear-splitting. Sansa signs in relief once it closes. Her ears ringing, she barely makes out the sound of something heavy clanging to the floor of the conference room.

“Seven Hells, I thought he’d never leave.”

A pair of legs dangles from an air vent, and then the rest of the figure plops onto the floor in a heap, too short to gracefully climb down from the ceiling. Sansa’s mouth opens in shock as she sees a familiar head of ratty dark hair, chopped short for practicality, and an unmistakable pair of steel-gray eyes.

“Arya?” she gasps, unbelieving.

“Who else would be here to save you?” her sister grudgingly asks, but Sansa is too overcome with happiness to notice, hugging her only sister desperately.

She’s broken out of their reunion when a much larger, taller form climbs down from the same air shaft, this time landing with practiced ease. The man scans the room, his eyes barely passing over Sansa before he walks over to the schematic that the General left hovering over the control panel.

“Who are you?” Sansa asks.

The dark-haired man faces her, surprised that she’s noticed his presence.

“He’s Jon Snow, he’s going to get you out of here!” Arya says, excitedly holding onto her arm. Sansa can hear admiration in her sister’s voice. The man must have surely done something to earn it, but Sansa has grown disillusioned during the course of this war. Good men rescue ladies in distress, but all the good men died with her father, and the man who has fallen out of air vent is no Stark banner man that she knows of.

Sansa takes in the shape of the saber-hilt clipped to his belt, the black outer robe that he wears, and the scar that diagonally bisects the socket of his eye.

“Are you a Jedi?” Sansa asks, wary of this stranger, this Jon Snow her sister has placed her trust in.

“No, princess. I’m a smuggler. Now let’s get out of here,” he replies.


End file.
